


the devil's game

by watergator



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Demons, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Nightmares, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:08:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23790580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergator/pseuds/watergator
Summary: it starts with a curtain pole
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	the devil's game

The flat is quiet, as is the outside world from beneath the window. It’s nothing new with the state of the world recently; less cars, no more children walking to and from school, the park just across the road has been empty for weeks.   
  
The tv is on, flashing images and colours that bounce of the walls in the dim light. The volume is low, but not quite muted, far away voices come out in murmurs low enough to not quite understand.   
  
All Phil can hear is the clickety clackety sound of fingers on a keyboard. The sound only stops in short intervals before going again. Phil glances up from his phone to see where Dan’s curled up on the opposite side of the sofa. His lip is chewed between his teeth, deep in concentration. His headphones push his wild curls from his face that glows with the bright hue of his screen.   
  
He frowns, and continues typing. It’s relaxing in a way, Phil thinks.   
  
He quite enjoys watching Dan work like this; he’s probably oblivious to the world and blasting whatever music he’s into these days, loud enough to rumble his ear drums.   
  
Phil grins at him, continuing to go unnoticed. He’s been working for hours, his fingers expertly clacking away, bottom lip so bitten there’s a spot of dried blood right at the corner where he’d chewed away at his own skin.   
  
Phil stretches a leg out, wiggling his toes to ease some of the pain there as pins and needles creep up and fizzle uncomfortably under his skin.   
  
He lifts his leg, points his toes and digs it right into the fleshy give of Dan’s naked thigh.   
  
He doesn’t seem to notice at first, nor care, and so Phil presses again, this time a little harder, and Dan is snapping his head towards him almost like he’d forgotten he was here entirely.   
  
When he pulls his headphones off, his forehead is sweaty, his curls are messed and Phil can just about make out the tinny sound of King Princesses voice coming from either speaker.   
  
“Huh?” he rasps, his voice husky from the last couple of hours he’s been holding his tongue.   
  
Phil just shrugs. “Nothin’,” he tells him with a smile. “Just missed you.”   
  
Dan scoffs but nonetheless he’s letting his hand slip from his laptop to reach down and grab Phil’s foot. A thumb is pressed into the arch and he works his fingers over his socked foot, giving it a gentle squeeze every now and then.   
  
“Was’ the time?” he says, midway a yawn, stopping his massage as he scrunches his eyes up. When he opens them again, Phil then notices how puffy and red they look, even beginning to look a little bruised where bags are beginning to form.   
  
“Late,” Phil says, flexing his foot to dig his toe in his leg again. “Come to bed, yeah?”   
  
It looks like Dan’s about to protest from the way he glances back at his laptop. But he yawns again and sighs, dropping his head with a groan.   
  
“My brain’s falling out,” he whines and Phil just laughs. “S’not funny.”   
  
Phil eventually gets his foot back and stands up to stretch his body out. Dan’s already putting his laptop away and taking in the cups off the coffee table by the time all of Phil’s joints have started working again.   
  
They’re moving in their usual rhythm: put things away, take their vitamins, grab a glass of water for each other and go to bed.    
  
Phil’s putting away whatever games have been strewn about throughout the day. He can hear Dan pottering about in the kitchen behind him, the glass running, the sound of him yawning yet again and the pop of a cap as well as a rattle of what Phil knows is his mood boosting vitamins.    
  
Phil’s putting the Switch away in a place that won’t get broken when he hears Dan come back.    
  
“Ugh,” Phil says, his head in the games cupboard. He can’t find the wrist strap for the switch controller, and he knows that once those little bastards go missing, he’ll never be bothered to find them. “Hey, Dan, have you seen the—”   
  
He’s stopped short when he hears the sound of what sounds like water hitting the floor. He stands up so fast he almost ends up smacking his head again against the shelf above him, missing it narrowly as he spins on his heels.   
  
Dan is stood beside the sofa. His eyes have gone wide and sure enough he’s split nearly half his glass of water on the floor.    
  
Phil’s about to playfully scold him when he notices the vice like grip he has on the glass, so tight his knuckles are spotted white and the look of horror he has seemingly stuck on his face as he looks straight past Phil.   
  
Phil feels his stomach drop as he watches Dan, unmoving. His first thought is that maybe something’s wrong with him. Is he having some sort of… fit? A muscle spasm?   
  
He makes his brain work to say his name in a frantic splutter.   
  
“Dan!”   
  
He snaps out of it, head spinning to Phil, the same shocked expression plastered across his face.    
  
“The fucking curtain pole,” is all he says, like Phil had even asked. “Did you move the fucking curtain pole?”   
  
Phil just stands there dumbfounded as he just stares at Dan, standing there in just his hoodie and his pants, hair pushed off his head styled like a troll doll, with a big puddle of water at his feet looking absolutely terrified of a…  _ curtain pole? _ _   
_   
Phil stammers for a moment as he tries to process what his poor boyfriend is trying to say; maybe his brain really is just so tired and fried.   
  
But before he can even begin to ask questions, Dan is putting the glass down on the table with a loud  _ clink _ and he’s reaching over to where he’s stood, a hand grips onto his arm and he gives him a harsh tug.   
  
Poor Phil almost tripping over his own feet in the process as well as bumping shoulders with Dan, hard enough to make him wince. He’s about to complain and make a fuss when he finally sees what Dan is seeing.   
  
It’s the curtain pole. And it’s… swinging.   
  
It so casually sways from side to side. It doesn’t slow down, nor does it stop. Just like one of those little musical ticker things Dan sometimes talks about when he rambles about music, it continues to sway and swing.   
  
They both just stand there in stunned silence for a moment, watching it when Phil finally gets his tongue to move.   
  
“I- I didn’t touch anything,” he whispers. Dan just lets out a whimper. He’s still got a hold on Phil’s arm, grip still tight like a vice, this time it’s less angry and more of a ‘protect me, I’m scared in a way.’   
  
Because of course, Dan Howell, king of all things sceptical, still manages to freak himself out with the very things he doesn’t believe in.   
  
He hadn’t slept for weeks after they’d finished The Haunting of Hill House on Netflix.    
  
“It’s,” Phil swallows thickly, transfixed by it for a moment. “It’s probably just the wind.”   
  
It seems that now is when Dan snaps. “The wind?!” He spits harshly, letting go on his arm in some false bravery. “There is no fucking wind!”   
  
His voice is shrill and a little shaky, which tells Phil that even though he’s being brash, he’s still actually a little scared.   
  
Phil opens his mouth to give a proper explanation, but after a few seconds of nothing, he closes it again like a gaping fish, purely because he has no explanation.   
  
They’re still rooted to the spot. Phil’s not that  _ scared  _ of spooky stuff. He could sit through hours of scary films just to feel the sensation of his skin prickling and his heart pound against his ribs.   
  
But spooky stuff in real life was a lot different. When it was right in front of you, it becomes less fun and less excitement and more of a threat, and more real. And he didn’t like that. Whatever frightened him in the movies was never supposed to be real.   
  
“Check it out?” Dan whispers suddenly. His voice is thin, and his hands have found themselves in the hem of his shirt, fisting into balls like he doesn’t want to let go, otherwise he’ll lose him.   
  
Phil looks at Dan, then looks back at the window. It’s still just swinging, almost mocking them.   
  
He takes a sharp breath. “Fine,” he says. Maybe he’ll go over there, feel some sort of draft and then they can go to bed laughing because it turned out it was the wind after all.   
  
Dan lets go of his shirt, letting his hands flopping uselessly to his sides as Phil takes a tentative step towards the window.   
  
He tries not to let his brain conjure images of anything freaky with each step he takes, but it’s like his brain wants to traumatise him as he begins to picture every horror villain he’s ever watched before. He gulps as he makes it to the window, reaching a hand out.   
  
“Is it open?” Dan asks meekly. His voice is far away now and when Phil turns his head to look back at him, he sees that he’s already moved back behind the sofa, gripping the little cloud cushion so tight it creases into something deformed in his grip.   
  
“No,” Phil assures him, turning back around to look at the curtain. “The window’s shut and there’s no air coming out.

It’s not entirely comforting, but at least they now know that they haven’t accidentally had the window left open for the entire day for some psychopath to scale the building and sneak into their apartment when they weren’t noticing.

But still. Burglars and home invasions was one thing.

Ghosts was something entirely different.

He’s still holding his hand out, like he might get the pole to stop moving if he uses some invisible force. He’s honing in on any Luke Skywalker powers he may have when he hears Dan whisper harshly at him.

“Phil!”

He drops his hand and looks back.

Dan’s still hiding, pillow in his hold like some safety blanket. It is rather endearing.

He smiles at him when he has an idea.

“Dan,” he says, voice low and quiet. “Dan, go grab my thingy from the thingy.”

He’s trying to wrack his brain for the actual words whilst Dan squints at him.

“The ghost meter thing!” Phil tells him. “It’s in the trunk in the spare room.”

Dan gives him a pensive look, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he looks like he’s seriously considering what might happen if he leaves his little safe space behind the couch to go grab a stupid toy.

Phil grins, pulls out the puppy eyes and bats his lashes like it’s a skill he’s obtained over the years.

(Because it is, and he’s pretty damn good at it.)

“Ugh, fine,” Dan scoffs, and he throws the pillow back onto the couch with a soft thud before he skitters off into the flat. 

It doesn’t take long for him to return, since he’s actually running. Phil has to hold back a laugh as Dan enters the room again, clearly looking flushed and disheveled like he was trying hard to look like he hadn’t run all the way there, frantically torn through their room and then finally ran all the way back.

He tosses it to Phil who manages to catch it.

“If there’s a ghost I’m leaving,” Dan tells him, but Phil’s only half listening as he attempts to switch the bloody thing on.

It eventually comes to life, the little coloured buttons all flash before settling down again.

He lifts it, waving it around for a bit and nothing happens. It’s static, almost dead as he waves it again, this time a bit more harsher as if to get his point across that he means business and he needs to know if there’s a ghost in here or not.

“Is it working?” Dan’s voice floats up beside him, timidly.

Phil’s about to tell him no, and to forget about it and to just go to bed, when suddenly, it begins to wildly flash bright red.

Phil’s hand trembles, holding it in one place with great difficulty as the tiny little machine begins screaming at him as the lights start flashing wildly, almost out of control.

It then stays on red, flickering lightly, but still just as strong as ever as it holds onto the light.

“Oh my fucking  _ god,” _ he hears Dan swear, obviously being able to see from here that they’re silly little ghost machine is starting to perhaps prove that what they’re most scared of might be true.

The pole is still swinging, the corner of the curtain actually moves, and whilst Phil knew there was no wind or any draft coming through, it was like ice being poured down his back with how cold the room seemed to become in one split second. The machine is still angrily flashing red and now Phil can feel each hair on his body as it stands up, goosebumps prickling over his skin quickly.

The pole swings again, this time, it swings so harshly that it connects with the wall and it makes an awful  _ clang. _

Dan shrieks, probably making Phil jump more than the pole itself, and on instinct he ducks, as if hiding himself from anything that might hurt him.

He stands and looks at Dan who’s seemingly had the same idea from where he’s crouching behind the sofa with a pillow covering his face.

Phil feels the box in his hand vibrate and when he looks down, it’s gone quiet. No more red lights, no more noises.

He feels a warmth flood through him, like the feeling of a warm shower, and when he looks up, the pole has stopped moving.

It hangs, right where it’s supposed to, like it never moved in the first place. Not even a tiny little swing. Just. Motionless.

“It’s stopped,” Phil croaks. His voice is so thin it might not have been heard. He clears his throat.

“Dan, it’s stopped.”

There’s a beat of silence then,

“Are you sure?”

His voice is muffled by the pillow but Phil looks round to usher him over. Dan stands up rather wobbly, still holding the pillow to his chest now as he moves towards Phil.

He looks at the pole, back at Phil and then at the pole again.

“That is  _ so  _ weird,” he mutters. Phil kinda wants to reach out and touch it, just to see what happens.

But he knows better, and all he wants to do is crawl into bed and wait for the sun to come up.

“Well, whatever it was,  _ I  _ got rid of it,” Phil says, nudging Dan in the ribs with his elbow.

He looks at Dan who’s still watching the pole with a careful eye, brows almost knitted together with concern, and that little spot of blood on his lip is fresh again from where he’s worn it down with his teeth.

“Hey, it was probably just, nothing,” Phil assures him, voice soft enough to get Dan to turn to look at him. “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Otherwise we’ll be up all night scaring ourselves silly.”

Dan glances back at the pole, lingering for a moment like he wants to just be extra sure, then, he sighs, shoulders sag from where he’s been tending and he nods.

“Yeah. God, I’m gonna have nightmares about this, aren’t I?”

Phil just laughs breathily as they turn around and leave. Phil chucks the gadget onto the couch as they walk past it.

The water is still on the floor but Phil will clear it up tomorrow.

When they get into bed, Dan’s quick to tuck himself up as close as he possibly can get to Phil.

He almost crushes his lungs from how tight he holds him from behind.

The lights are off and all that remains is the little hallway light that glows at the other end.

Phil holds Dan’s hand where it’s wrapped around his body before bringing it up to his lips and kissing at his knuckles.

“Go to sleep,” Phil says tiredly. “Don’t go scaring yourself.”

Dan just responds by burying his face in the back of Phil’s neck, taking in a deep breath and sighing.

Phil falls asleep the the whispers breaths against his skin.

*

When Phil wakes up, it’s because he feels cold.

It’s nothing new, he’s always cold. He always jokes with Dan that he’s some anti lizard and that he must have had his original ancestors in the arctic or something.

And it works out well for him because whilst he’s always freezing, Dan is seemingly always warm, which makes a perfect balance between the pair.

Except, right now, Phil can feel that warmth.

Assuming that he perhaps rolled away in his sleep, Phil shifts onto his back, an arm stretches out to the other side of the bed, expecting to find either skin or squishiness or maybe a tangle of curly hair, but instead, his fingers find the cool sheets left behind.

His eyes fly open and he sits up.

“Dan?” He croaks.

The flat is deathly silent, all he can hear is the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

The bed is so, so cold.

It’s like Dan wasn’t even here at all.

He swallows the lump in his throat. Chances are he’s just gotten up to go pee, or get a drink.

But the bathroom light is off and Dan’s glass of water still remains full on his bedside table.

Phil sucks in a breath. It wasn’t totally unlike Dan to wake up in the night and just do stuff.

Sometimes he’d be watching a video, working on something, or maybe just go sit on the balcony where he’d go collect his thoughts after a night of tossing and turning.

So Phil swings his legs off the bed and makes careful steps out of the room.

The hall light is off which is weird. Dan hates the dark, he’s positively terrified of it, and there’s no chance that he’d purposely turn it off, especially when he was walking around.

Phil doesn’t mind the dark, but right now with his stomach in knots, he reaches out for the switch. His fingers fumble for a moment as he clicks it but feels his insides only swoop when nothing happens.

The bulb is gone, and he’s left in darkness.

Stupidly he’s left his phone back in the bedroom, and with not enough nerves to go back and grab it, he persists on, muscle memory working as he walks down the hall to go inspect the kitchen and living room.

When he gets to the living room, he feels his heart stop, leaping up into his mouth where it rests.

There’s a small red glow coming from the corner of the room, and although it may be dark and hard to see, especially without his glasses now, he’s just about able to make out a figure, standing in the corner of the room.

His legs feel like jelly and his heart feels like it’s about to leap out and make a run for it. He takes a tentative step forward.

Each step he takes, he realises that the figure is standing with its back to him. It’s standing in the very corner they were in last.

Another flash of red and Phil’s eyes dart to the sofa where the detector is still laying, the red light blinking and flashing as it tries to stay powered.

He takes a breath, holds it for a moment, afraid that any sudden moment might be the wrong choice.

He exhales slowly, trying his best to keep his nerves down, when he whispers a shaky:

“Dan?”

It’s so uncertain and so unsure, he’s not even convinced by his own voice.

Of course, the figure doesn’t move, and Phil’s brain is telling him to just run, run, run,  _ run! _

But he takes another step into the red glow of the room.

The more he gets closer the harder his heart begins to pound. His ribs feel bruised and his lungs feel tired from how often he holds his breath, letting it go before holding it again.

“Dan?” He tries again, a little braver this time though not by a lot.

He takes a bigger step forward.

He can see the shape of his shoulder blades, the curve of his hips. There’s wild curls messed up on top of his head and he can barely make out the way his body inhales and exhales.

It’s like he’s completely still, unmoving like he’s suspended or something.

As Phil gets nearer, the detector that stills sat on the couch crackles, an awful sound that has Phil almost lurching back in fear. The red is still glowing. Phil swallows his fear and reaches out a shaky hand.

“Dan,” he says a final time, and this time he’s reaching out enough that fingers brush against skin.

He’s so cold, Phil thinks. He’s absolutely  _ freezing. _

He gathers up the courage to push him. He watches as his body rocks a little before he steadies himself. Phil’s ears are flooded with the sound of his own rushing blood being pumped around his body.

He almost whimpers in fear when Dan slowly moves.

He shuffles, turning around in tiny steps. It feels like forever when he finally faces him, but when he does, Phil wishes maybe he’d just stayed looking the other way.

The detector crackles again, a little harsher this time, like it’s proper screaming at him. 

Phil’s able to see Dan’s face just enough in the dull red light.

His stomach sinks to his knees like a rock when he sees him.

He has a blank expression on his face.

His mouth is drawn in a thin line, his eyes are half open, half closed, an empty stare as he looks right through Phil.

It makes him shiver at the thought.

He doesn’t react or say anything. Phil carefully touches at his arm with a feather light touch, almost afraid like anything more will be like a pin to a balloon, popping him with any amount of pressure.

But Dan just stands there, motionless, face void of any kind of expression and it makes him feel sick. His stomach squirms as he watches him; Dan is always pulling some sort of face or expression, his hands always flying through the air, voice always loud and obnoxious, making sure he’s the main attraction in any room. He’s such an animated person, even when he sleeps, (which usually means a kick to his shin or a knee to his balls) so seeing Dan so still like this… it’s eerie.

He reaches out and this time he grabs his arm, hard. His fingers wrap around the soft give of his muscle and he squeezes.

“Dan!” He pleads.

Then, as if by magic, Dan blinks. Once, twice, and third time. Then, his eyes flutter across the room before landing right at Phil who’s stood right in front of him.

Phil waits with bated breath. His heart is still ramming agaisnt his chest, hard enough to bruise as he waits for something. Anything.

It’s like he’s taking it all in so slowly. What he’s doing in here, where he even is. And then, for the first time, it’s like he’s finally seeing Phil.

And again, it would be somewhat comforting, that maybe Dan’s snapped out of whatever horrifying trance he’d been stuck in, maybe some sort of bad dream, maybe he’d seen something that spooked him so bad that—

His internal ramblings are cut short when he sees Dan’s face change. It’s no longer blank and empty, and instead, it looks petrified.

His eyes bulge from his sockets, face twisting up something terrifying, jaw goes slack, so wide it looks like it could snap and fall off. He takes a stumble backwards pulling himself away from Phil’s grip, and he screams.

It’s nothing like Phil’s heard before; he knows what Dan sounds like when he plays horror games in the dark, he knows what happens when he finds a spider in the bathroom. He knows what happens when Phil jumps him behind a closed door just to wind him up.

It sounds nothing like any of those things.

This scream claws its way out, scratching at his insides, ripping up his throat as he screams, taking quick steps backwards until he has himself in the corner of the room, pressed up against the windows.

Phil reaches out for him, but Dan blindly swats his arm at him, his fist collides with his forearm rather harshly, and Phil draws back.

He tries again but Dan screams again, howling like a wounded animal, screaming and screaming and screaming. 

Phil tries to talk him down but his voice is instantly drowned out by the cries that turn to sobs. He ends up in a ball, legs pressed to his chest as he kicks out and swings his arms like helicopter blades every time Phil tries to get near him.

“Dan, Dan, hey,” Phil says in a small voice. He reaches out again but Dan just swings at him. It almost gets him right in the face but this time Phil is able to grab his fist in his hand and hold it down. 

He struggles for a moment, grunting as tears and snot fly, some getting on Phil’s pyjamas, but it’s the least of his problems when Dan still tries to fight against him.

He manages to hold his arms down long enough for his body to lose strength against him, slowly becoming more sluggish, each sob turns into a hiccup, small and scared sounding.

It’s not until he collapses into Phil, that he starts to feel a little less on edge.

Dan’s still crying into his shirt, wetness clings to his skin as he grows soggy from his tears. Phil ends up rocking him like a baby, a hand comes up to cradle his back, the skin there now burns hot, wet to the touch with sweat.   
  
“It’s okay,” Phil murmurs, pressing his lips into the salty line that separates his face from his hair. His curls tickle his nose and Dan just clings onto him tighter with each soothing rock.

Dan lets out a shattering sob and he shakes his head, almost frantically. “There here,” he cries, voice broken. “They’re here, they’re here, oh god, they’re here.”   
  
Phil feels his blood run cold as he continues to repeat himself, babbling nonsensical garbled words over and over again as he tries desperately to make Phil understand.   
  
Phil doesn’t, but he holds him tight nonetheless. “It’s alright,” Phil assures him, voice shaky. “It was just a dream.”   
  
Dan sobs again, his chest shakes and heaves like it’ll give way with another heavy sob.   
  
Phil continues to rock him, sitting on the floor of their dark living room, holding him close as fists so tight close around his shirt, enough to rip it off his body.   
  
‘They’re here,” Dan says with a horrible sounding groan, like metal scraping against metal. “Oh, they’re here. They’re here.”   
  
Phil kisses him again, lips lingering against his damp skin in need of some familiarity as Dan’s cries fail to cease.   
  
He’s hiccuping now, head lazing lolling from side to side, still spluttering out words and cries as Phil holds him.   
  
It was just a dream, right? Just a fucking horrible, putrid dream that had him sleepwalking into some nightmare.   
  
It had to be. He’d woken up so quickly that he’d became dazed and confused, hence the hysterics.   
  
Phil’s clinging onto his own explanation as hard as Dan is to him, when he hears a small squeak come from above them.   
  
Dan mumbles into his chest again, sad and broken sounding, voice so thin it can barely be heard.   
  
“They’re here. They’re here now.”   
  
Phil feels his chest go tight like a cave collapsing in on itself, and he looks up, squinting through the dim, low light. His eyes barely adjusted, just about to see what lays beyond Dan’s face, just in time to see what makes his stomach drop so hard, it feels like it bursts on impact, hot fear crawling over him like a thousand little bugs.   
  
Dan whimpers again, clutching onto him in fear and Phil feels his mouth run as dry as salt, tongue as heavy as a rock in his head.   
  
His eyes go wide, and he holds Dan so tight he might actually end up breaking him in half.   
  
He waits for it again, like maybe if he sees it a second time, it might not be real, and his brain might start working again and he’ll wake up in bed.   
  
But from behind the curtain pole comes a gnarled hand. Long, slender fingers creep from where it’s been hiding, fingernails long and pointed, dirt is caked underneath it in a solid black line.   
  
It moves so slowly, reaching out, flicking a single finger against the pole. It bounces, swinging from side to side as Phil just watches in horror.   
  
He can’t even move. He doesn’t think he can.   
  
It swings a few more times when suddenly the hand stops it. It holds it, and it’s then that Phil feels pure terror take over him. 

One hard tug, and the blinds suddenly shoot up from the floor.   
  
A scream is caught in his throat just as the pole comes clattering back down against the wall.

He’s not even sure when he’d closed his eyes but when he opens them, he’s no longer in the lounge.   
  
He’s staring up at his own bedroom ceiling. His breaths come in ragged, like he’s ran a marathon or two, and he focuses on the small crack that runs to the wall in an attempt to ground himself.   
  
He can feel the wet feeling of sweat on the small of his back, and when he rolls over he grimaces.    
  
The feeling is quickly replaced though when he sees that once again, Dan is not beside him, His memory is fuzzy, like the kind of dreams that wash away when you wake, but he can’t shake that horrible feeling, like a bad taste in his mouth. He stands on wobbly legs, almost buckling underneath him as he leaves his room.    
  
He’s not sure what time it is, but the outside world from the window is a hazy orange, so the sun must be coming up.   
  
He tries to speak but he can’t quite find his voice, instead his heart is thumping in his throat as he stumbles his way through the apartment. Tears prick behind his eyes as he remembers the same journey he’d taken last night (was it last night? Time begins to feel thick and uneven) and his heart almost stops when he spots Dan stood behind the glass doors outside on the balcony.   
  
He lets out a shaky sigh of relief as he makes his way to him.   
  
This time when he gets near, Dan turns to him and smiles thinly. His eyes are red and puffy and there’s tears marks down his face. He’s just stood in his pants, shivering slightly as the early morning wind breezes past them.   
  
“I had an awful dream,” he croaks. Another tear slips down his face, landing wet on the floor.   
  
Phil feels his face crumbles, sadness gripping at his chest. “Me too,” he whispers. HIs bottom lip wobbles and the urge to start crying with him is strong.   
  
Dan shuffles towards him, baby steps as bare feet move across cold concrete.   
  
“Do… do you remember it?” He asks, eyes brimming with tears once again.   
  
Phil tries, he really tries, but it blurs away like a photo underwater. It’s intangible, out of reach.   
  
He shakes his head and whispers. “No, not really.”   
  
Dan gulps. “Me neither. All I know it was just, god, it was so scary. I tried to tell you, I was trying so hard but it felt like I was  _ trapped _ .”   
  
Phil breaks, a small sob escapes him and now they’re both crying. “But it’s okay,” he assures him through his tears. Dan’s closer to him now, in reach so he can grab his hand and lace his fingers through his. “It’s okay because we’re here.”   
  
Dan nods and wipes away a rogue tear with the back of his wrist, sniffing as he does so.   
  
“Lets just make ourselves some tea and we can try and not think about it, yeah?” Phil offers.   
  
Dan’s lips tug into a small, faint smile. “Yeah,” he whispers. “That’d be nice.”   
  
They head back indoors and Phil’s already thinking about how they can take their minds off of such a weird night. Maybe some Animal Crossing or another double date of Mario Kart if any of their friends are up to it. He’s halfway across to the kitchen when suddenly, his name is being called out.   
  
He stops dead in his tracks. The feeling of impending doom spikes at the back of his neck like a thousand tiny needles.   
  
“Phil?” Dan’s voice calls out from the living room, sounding strangled almost.   
  
He rushes in, heart hammering against his chest. It’s the same feeling. The same feeling that he woke up with. That feeling of dread.   
  
He almost collides with Dan where he’s stood, skidding to a halt in his socks, arms fly out to steady himself.   
  
He looks at Dan, his face grey. He opens his mouth to say something, but something in his brain tells him otherwise.    
  
Instead, he follows his dead straight gaze from across the room.   
  
That same gut wrenching, belly pulling feeling rises up on him like a tidal wave, growing closer and closer ready to engulf him.   
  
His heart is hammering so hard against his chest he fears it might actually burst right out of him, landing on the floor with a wet and graphic splat.

But he just stares, stood frozen to the spot as he feels his body go cold, the tidal wave of doom starts to break and he knows that soon it’ll wash over him.   
  
“Did you open the curtains last night?” Dan asks meekly. Phil swallows thickly.   
  
He already knows the answer, and he knows that Dan knows the answer. They never open the curtains. The windows are so big the only add glare to the tv and they’re great for added privacy.   
  
Except now, it feels like they’re boxed in like two little bugs about to be crushed.   
  
“No,” Phil answers back. “Did you?”   
  
There’s a beat.   
  
“No.”   
  
Phil swallows hard and sucks in a shaky breath.    
  
“Phil,” Dan speaks, voice cracking just slightly. “Why is the curtain pole moving?”   
  
Phil exhales but it does no good. Something in the back of his mind is screaming at him, telling him to run, like a siren that screams over and over again: Tsunami!   
  
But he looks at the pole and he looks at Dan, who looks at him in return.   
  
He gulps, and waits for the wave to wash over him.    
  
It never comes, only building higher and higher. Dan’s eyes are pleading, almost as if he knows. Like he’s seeing the same wave of doom.   
  
Phil smiles at him, only barely, as much as he can muster as he reaches out and touches his hand, and tries to ignore the uncertainty in his voice when he tells him,

“It’s just the wind.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on tumblr !! @watergator


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